


The Woven Strings of Fate Part 3: Maps

by TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone



Series: The Sorceress, The Witcher, The Bard and a Girl [11]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bring Forth The Morning, Court of the Dead, Darkness Creeps Closer, Lich Kings, Multi, Reunions, Sing Nightingale Sing, Spring, The Dove of the Morning, The Guardian Trio, The Nightingale, The Wolf - Freeform, the raven, they know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone/pseuds/TobiBooneTheSmallSpoone
Summary: Geralt starts for home. Something creeps, something falls, and something rises.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer
Series: The Sorceress, The Witcher, The Bard and a Girl [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584583
Comments: 17
Kudos: 108





	The Woven Strings of Fate Part 3: Maps

**Author's Note:**

> The soldier woke, struggled back fully to life,  
> And made his way slowly back home.  
> Treacherous toil of a way that it was,  
> A goddess had sent him back where he belonged  
> And no avalanche would slow him down.  
> It's every hand keeps a family strong.  
> It's the self who is last to forgive.  
> He vowed on that day ne'er again to forget  
> The worth of his loved ones who live.
> 
> -SJ Tucker, Valkyrie Daughter

Spring brings rain. Not that Geralt forgot but he grumbled and swore all the same as he lead Roach down the mountain, it was too treacherous to ride so he was up to his balls in run-off and mud. The Witcher pulled his hood lower over his damp head and shivered, the hand holding Roach’s reins was numb so he alternated, pulling the sodden glove off and shoving that hand under his armpit while the dry hand gripped the slippery reins.

Roach’s hooves slipped a bit and she snorted, shaking the rain off her mane and blowing out her lips.

Geralt grimaced apologetically at the mare, “We’re almost to the stop, don’t worry, you’ll be dry soon.” He looked at the mare and furrowed his brow, “I'm sorry . . . I couldn’t wait for the rains to be done . . . I have to go home.”

Roach said nothing, not that he expected or even hoped she would, but the mare did toss her head slightly in impatience and stamp her hoof, the shoe making a dull _clink clink_ on a stone.

“Alright, alright, let’s keep going.” Geralt turned and squinted through the downpour until he could see a small opening on the side of the mountain. It was a shelter carved into the rock meant for exactly this occasion. Geralt breathed out in relief, there was a fire pit with dry kindling waiting for them, “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Roach, however, pulled back despite her previous impatience at the rain.

Geralt frowned and turned, “What? C’mon we have to-” he stopped and looked back at the cave, it wasn’t empty as several pairs of glowing eyes peered back at him through the sheets of water, “Fuck . . . “

* * *

The mud sludged up around the carriage wheels and horse hooves as the rain poured down, Yennefer blew out a misty breath as she stared into the rain, “ . . . dismal spring in the north.”

Jaskier nodded, scribbling away in a journal with a dandelion tooled into the front, “Feels good to be dry but I don’t understand the urgency.”

Yennefer glanced at Ciri who was fast asleep opposite, bundled in a blanket as the air was still chilly, then she reached into her travel bag and produced a rough, worn stone with fading runes carved into it, it fit in her hand, “This is why.”

“Is that-?” Jaskier sat more forward, putting his journal away, “Wasn’t it larger?”

“Yes, Jask, it is and it _was_.” Yennefer put the remainder of the barrier stone back in her bag, “It’s crumbling, the spell is weakening, we need another one.”

“And it’s a very specific stone, isn’t it?” Jaskier murmured, his eyes darted to Ciri then the window.

“Not particularly no, but now that I know we are dealing with undead, I thought that using a stone from a crypt would make it that much stronger. So that’s where we are going.” Yennefer muttered.

“Uh, portal perhaps?” Jaskier gestured around.

“1. I am doing all in my power to maintain the stone. 2. A portal is a lot of magic, which I have explained to you several times, do you not pay attention? 3. With the stone weakened this much, any large magic could disrupt it and leave us vulnerable. I am beginning to see that I should have given you a pamphlet before we left.” Yennefer muttered and shook her head, not looking at the bard.

Jaskier blinked, “Oh alright, twinkle-fingers, don’t get huffy at me. So where are we going and why are we taking Ciri _and_ the stone?”

Yennefer didn’t answer at first, her violet eyes watching raindrops then she took a slow breath, “Because the spell is meant to protect _all_ of us and where we are going is a dark place, I couldn’t leave Ciri behind at the Temple no matter how much Nenneke will swear up and down how safe it is, the gods are fickle, why should Militele be any different? That and . . . “ She looked at Jaskier, “I will need the added protection going in there.”

“If you think for a second that I’m letting you go into a tomb where you might face undead alone . . . “ Jaskier held up a finger then grimaced, “Alright, I would trust you to be able to handle yourself against some bones and shadows but . . . “

“You can stay with the carriage, Jask,” Yennefer murmured, taking his hand, “It’s alright.”

Jaskier pursed his lips and shook his head, “No, you know what? I’m going with you, I might be terrified but I haven’t forgotten my role,” He leaned forward and kissed her hand, squeezing the small delicate thing between his slightly larger ones, “We’re stronger together.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t know how much use you would be,” Yennefer grimaced, “Jaskier, you’re a bard-”

Jaskier sat back suddenly and regarded her, “Yes, I am. I’m a bard and a poet and a literally hopeless romantic. I’m also the Nightingale and, in some small way, a father and I will take those roles seriously as the grave,” He glanced out the window, “Which, incidentally, we have arrived at.” 

Yennefer grumbled and glared at the rain, “ . . . too many spells will attract attention, I’m sure . . . “

“So we’re going to get very wet, yes?” Jaskier reached for his cloak and pulled the hood up, “And Ciri?”

“Stays here with the stone.” Yennefer tucked what remained of the barrier stone under Ciri’s seat then she leaned closer and kissed the girl’s forehead, moving some of the long blonde hair back, “Ciri, wake up.”

Ciri mumbled and her face squinched up before she blearily looked up, she yawned and knuckled her eyes, “Where are we?”

“Jaskier and I have to go and run a quick errand, you stay here alright? We won’t be long.” 

Ciri sat up and kept rubbing her eyes, “Wait, I’ll go with you-”

“No, you stay here and guard the carriage.” Jaskier murmured, tucking her back into the blankets, “We won’t be more than a moment.”

Ciri looked out the window, “ . . . where are we?”

Jaskier and Yennefer were already stepping out into the downpour before they could answer. Jaskier grabbed Yennefer’s hand and they hurried toward the tomb as two guards opened the gates to the crypt. The bard stopped a moment as a wave of warm, fetid air hit his nose and he blanched, “Oh _ick_ . . . “

“Not the most pleasant . . . “ Yen covered her face with a sleeve as they moved into the tomb proper. She held up a hand and a small flame burst into life, Jaskier found a torch in a sconce by the door and held it out for her to light, “Just . . . keep your eyes out for anything moving.”

“Such as . . . ?” Jaskier kept close to her, his hand on the pommel of one of his knives.

“Such as a corpse lifting it’s head or a wraith coming through a wall, the usual.” Yennefer shrugged, “Stay close.”

“I’d ride on your back if you’d let me.” Jaskier mumbled nervously, “Does it matter what kind of stone or just a stone from a tomb?”

“Marble, pitted with age and decay works pretty well for necrophages and spectres. Black marble is the best but not everyone can afford such things for a grave can they? The last one came from a temple ruin, not the same but pretty powerful nonetheless . . . would have been more so if a certain Witcher had disclosed information but here we are.” Yennefer squinted in the gloom, she would have enhanced her eyesight but this was the kind of place where the vaguer and less defined surrounding details were, the better.

* * *

Geralt grunted as he pulled his sword out and advanced, the eyes flashed and suddenly a pack of wild dogs were standing between him and a warm place to sit out the rain, “Not today, boys . . . not today . . . “ He waited and slowly the dogs left the cave without attacking, Geralt put his sword away and breathed out, grabbing Roach’s reins, “Was that so hard? C’mon, Roach, my boots are soaked through . . . “ 

It took him a while to get a fire going and once he did, Geralt made sure to hang up Roach’s tack closest to the fire and to untangle her mane so she would dry, it was warm enough that he wasn’t worried about her getting sick from the wet and wind, but she didn’t say no to his attentions either. The mare snorted out some rain water and rubbed her long muzzle against his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” Geralt slid an arm under her chin and patted her opposite cheek, “I should have waited for the pass to flush out I just . . . I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t wait . . . “ He looked in her large brown eye as it blinked at him, regarding him with the quiet indifference of an animal but he liked to pretend sometimes that she was more perceptive than most horses, “They need me, Roach . . . I just hope they’ll forgive me and that I’ll forgive myself . . . “ He turned back to the fire and sat down, staring into it and shivering, “I don’t care if I have to crawl behind them on my hands and knees through a flooded sewer . . . I don’t care if they make me sleep in the stable and never touch me again . . . “ He bit the inside of his cheek, that last bit was a little less true but saying it aloud made him feel better, “Whatever it takes, I need them . . . I need Ciri . . . and Jaskier . . . and Yennefer . . . “ His eyelids drooped and he slowly leaned back, he was wet and cold and very tired.

* * *

_He stood on all fours in the middle of a forest, there were birds everywhere even though it would appear to be dusk, the giant red sun sinking below the horizon. The wolf threw his head back and howled, calling to his pack but there was no answer._

_The wolf turned slowly in a circle, searching, sniffing, whining but no, he’s alone . . . The wolf slowly laid down with his head on his paws . . . **alone** . . . _

_“Giving up already?”_

_The wolf slowly looked around and there’s a maiden with her wild red hair in a careless braid, adorned with a garland of spring flowers and a clean white dress. Her eyes completely white and staring over his shoulder_ **_Ingris?_ **

_“The same, you stupid mutt,” The girl huffed and walked over, grabbing him by the scruff and tugging him up, “Get up, you have farther to go.”_

**_I can’t . . . I’m alone . . ._ **

_“What are they then?” Ingris pointed behind him._

_The wolf slowly looked up and there were ten shadowy figures in a semicircle behind them, watching. The wolf leapt to his feet and snarled, hackles rising._ **_I don’t know them._ **

_“Yes, you do.” Ingris murmured in his ear, bent so she could stroke his shoulders, “You know them all too well, three and three and three and . . . one. Do you see? You are running out of time, beast. The birds have fallen silent, can you not feel their bated breath? What shall you do?”_

_The wolf wanted to run, fear clenching around him._ **_I FAIL!_ **

_“Failure is part of living, not dying,” Ingris snapped, “If you fail at_ life _then you die, if you fail at_ living _then you wind up where you are, lying alone in a forest and how much good does that do anyone, you stupid animal?”_

 _The wolf blinked as the ten step closer,_ **_But . . . but I fail?_ **

_“Yes,” Ingris nodded slowly, impatiently, “You will fail, time and again, the Final Fall is inevitable, I fear but you don’t even know what that means, neither do I for that matter, it will happen and you will fail. You haven’t yet, but you’re going to.”_

**_I CANNOT FAIL!_ ** _The wolf roared, turning his gaze once more on the ten,_ **_I WILL NOT!_ **

_Ingris groaned and turned to start leaving the forest, “Stupid! Yes, you will! The sooner you accept such eventualities, the sooner you can move on! Why are you so afraid? It’s just a prophecy, not a history book! You CAN change things, meanings, and- why am I explaining this to you? If you want to stay here and snarl at them, fine, they’ll keep advancing and you’re only going to be an obstacle for them for a short time. The Endless will trample you. The Wall of Thorns will advance and you will be crushed under it unless you follow me.”_

_The wolf’s instincts told him to fight but he saw them advance again undeterred by his snarling fangs so he turned and followed her._ **_Back to the enemy is a good way of getting stabbed . . ._ **

_“Do I look like I give a damn about that? It might interest you to know that I turned ninety-eight last month.” Ingris rolled her eyes, “I don’t expect to be around forever and neither should you.”_

_“I don’t want to be around forever.” Geralt blinked as he walked upright next to her, “Ingris?”_

_“Yes?” The maiden looked at him then took his hand as the forest began to become thinner._

_“I’m afraid.” Geralt whispered, “Why can’t I hear the birds?”_

_“Because they are afraid as well,” Ingris explained, “Birds go quiet when danger is near.”_

_“Will they . . . sing again?”_

_“Of course! What use is a bird that won’t sing?” Ingris laughed, “Although I suppose the crow and duck might argue a few points. Why are you so afraid, Witcher?”_

_“I love them.” He whispered, looking helplessly at her as now they were in a vast field, the sun was gone and the stars and moon lit their way._

_“Obviously, but that’s not the right answer. Try again and know that I am impatient and I’m not going to hang around and wait on you.” Ingris stooped to pluck a few flowers that she began to weave into another crown, “And sit down.”_

_“Shouldn’t we keep moving?” Geralt looked over his shoulder but the forest was gone._

_“Why? They already found you and the girl a few times,” Ingris arranged her dress around her and patted the ground, “Sit and answer the question.”_

_Geralt sat down with her, “ . . . If I can’t protect them, they’ll die.”_

_“My my aren’t we the gods’ gift to creation,” Ingris spat, “You have a lovely gift for putting more importance into your singularity than any person I know. Why are you always so sure that you’re the linchpin? That you somehow are single-handedly carrying this prophecy? Are you so used to being the only capable one in the room or is it jealousy?”_

_“I’m not jealous!” Geralt snapped, “And I don’t think I’m important!”_

_“Yet you somehow thought not once, but_ twice _that you could alter the future by burning a note and running home like a frightened child. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” Ingris plucked a few daisies and began to weave without looking at her hands._

_Geralt didn’t speak for a bit then he licked his lips, “They’ll never forgive me.”_

_“Yes they will, it will take time, your lovers are heart-broken, your child is alone and you’re intent on keeping your own heart from healing. If I was in your shoes,” Ingris held the garland up then set it on Geralt’s head, “I’d think long and hard about that.”_

_Geralt didn’t remove the garland and sighed, “Are you here to give me anything I can use or just to berate me?”_

_“Bit of column A, bit of column B,” Ingris shrugged, “Mostly I like you and you like me and I wanted to chat. Times are getting darker, my predictions are never wrong but I didn’t give you a prediction, I gave you a prophecy and that’s worth more. So here’s what I think, would you like to know?”_

_Geralt nodded._

_Ingris glared at him in annoyance, “You know, if we weren’t in the same dream and I wasn’t in-tune with all the bullshit woo-woo here, I would not know you had nodded, so thank you for that, you horse’s ass!” She smoothed her skirts, “Here’s what I think, your flock, your birds, don't need you as much as you believe, of course they love you and rely on your strength but they are strong as well! Learn to respect their strengths, learn to see them, appreciate them. And as for your fear, as for the ten who are slowly marching your destruction to you, I can’t help you. I don’t know anything about them or what their aim is or where they came from, I’m so sorry for that, I truly am. So I’m going to give you a name, find its owner and he can help you. He is an old and dear friend of mine . . . Ballious the Archive, he resides in a living oak bole at the Northern edge of Dol Blathanna, the Valley of Flowers, do you know it?”_

_“I do.” Geralt nodded, “Am I to go alone?”_

_Ingris shrugged, “If you meet anyone on the road, only Fate knows but our time draws to a close.” She looked at Geralt, “I fear my life is soon to come to a close as well . . . Geralt, please know that if I were a much younger woman, I’d jump your bones so fast, it’d snap your pelvis.”_

_Geralt was about to search for a response but the vision or dream or whatever faded._

* * *

Geralt sat up in the early morning gloom, the rain had passed, the fire had died but he was dry and warm as a gentle breeze whistled through the cave. He sat up and moved to a natural basin of clean water, he washed his face and tied his hair back then blinked, looking at Roach, “So . . . Ballious the Archive . . . Valley of Flowers is in Vengerberg . . . Fuck, that’s a long way out of my way.”

Roach snorted and pawed the ground.

“I’m not fond of traveling that far either so what do we do? Go back to Temeria and search for our birds or head south and hope for the best?” Geralt picked up his cloak and slung it over his shoulders, “I suppose we could at least _try_ to find- No,” He shook his head, “I need to find them first, I need . . . I need my family . . . “ Geralt closed his eyes tightly, he pulled the ring out and slipped it on, “Yen . . . Jask . . . Ciri . . . anyone there?”

No answer. The ring stayed dark and didn’t move.

Geralt was quiet and he waited but after a few minutes there was a muffled sound, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The sound became a shout of excitement but it was cut off.

* * *

“I _hate_ everything.” Jaskier muttered as they slogged out of the crypt carrying a large slab of black marble, he was covered in cobwebs and rotted plant vegetation.

“You tripped on a statue, calm down.” Yennefer muttered, gratefully handing the slab to the guards, “This should work for a lot longer!”

“Hope whoever that belonged to won’t mind . . . “ Jaskier grumbled.

Ciri leaned out the carriage door, waving something excitedly, “Yen! Jask! I heard him! I heard Geralt on the ring! He’s al-”

Something flew through the air and slammed into the side of the carriage sending her flying out of it into the mud. Jaskier and Yennefer both cried out and hurried forward as the guards began to shout something.

Jaskier picked Ciri up and turned only to freeze, his eyes wide with terror as the sightless eye sockets of a shadow-skull fixed on him only for it to explode in a ball of flames from Yennefer, “TIME TO GO!” He shouted and turned to grab a horse and throw Ciri on it before climbing behind the dazed girl.  
Yen was right behind him, “The stone must have crumbled!”

“Indeed?” Jaskier asked over his shoulder as he spurred the horse.

“I can redo the spell on the new slab once we are sa-” Yennefer stopped when the guards were suddenly swarmed with shadow-skulls and then they could hear the ragged, moaning baying of hounds, the slab fell to the ground in a spray of mud, “FUCK!”

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open, “I GOT ALL FILTHY AND BRUISED MY FOOT FOR THAT FUCKING THING!!”

“JUST RIDE, JASKIER!” Yennefer snarled, her eyes glowing, and her fingers moved in a complex motion, “I CAN HOLD A BARRIER LONG ENOUGH TO GET BACK TO THE TEMPLE!!”

Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, he spurred his horse until Phil was snorting and his hooves lifted off the ground, Aderon was close behind him and so were several skeletal dogs. The bard’s wide eyes looked at Yennefer and she threw her hand up into the air and screamed out words he didn’t catch, a ripple went through the air and surrounded them briefly in soft blue light before dissipating.

“I SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN OXENFURT SINGING FOR A GORGEOUS AND WELL-HUNG HALF ELF!!” Jaskier groaned, the city walls were visible through the early fog.

“OH NO YOU DON’T,” Yennefer shouted back, “YOU’LL SING FOR THIS GORGEOUS AND MAGICAL HALF ELF UNTIL YOU CROAK, YOU STUPID BIRD!”

“IF YOU INSIST!” Jaskier almost smiled as his horse leapt through the gates but they were no longer being pursued.

Both stopped the horses, breathing heavily and sure enough, there was no one behind them, no shadow-skulls, no hounds, and no guards. They were alone. Yennefer swallowed thickly, “ . . . I think that was a planned attack.”

Jaskier looked at her then Ciri who was pressing her face into his chest and squeezing him so hard that it was difficult to draw a full breath, “ . . . now what?”

“I don’t know . . . “ Yennefer murmured, “Let’s get back to the temple . . . “

“I w-wish Geralt were h-here.” Ciri whispered.

Neither adults replied.

* * *

“They’re still there?” Geralt asked in surprise at the tavern keep, “In Vizima?”

“Aye, sir,” The old man kept glancing at him and his swords uneasily, “The sorceress and her bard and that lil girl have stayed at the temple for some time now, all through the winter and well into the planting season.” He nodded to himself and picked up another cup to wipe.

Geralt thought briefly about how barmen are perpetually wiping cups then stood up, paid for his meal and drink and headed to the door, Roach was fed and watered and she turned to look at him, “So we know where they are, I’d say we go to Vizima first, then we go to Vengerberg. Deal?”

The horse dipped her head to examine an interesting clump of straw.

“Right. Vizima it is.”

* * *

Jaskier stared out the window, fiddling with a quill, “So . . . we just wait then? For them to come in and take us? Or for the threat to become so great that the city kicks us out . . . or maybe they’ll just kill us and be done with it.”

“Will you _please_ stop catastrophizing? It is unproductive and unhelpful!” Yennefer snapped as she worked on a new barrier stone, it was a rough-hewn block they’d bought from a masonry, it was the best they could do.

“Sorry . . . sorry . . . “ Jaskier murmured, pulling his legs up onto the windowsill and staring out into the gloomy, cloudy day.

“I know you’re afraid,” Yennefer finished and turned to him, “But please try to remember that she does pick up on how we are feeling, she isn’t stupid.”

“I’m not trying to hide it,” Jaskier said, looking at her, “Ciri knows I’m frightened but she also knows I won’t let fear stop me from defending her.”

Yennefer was quiet then she swept across the room and put her arms around his neck, pulling his head into her chest so he could hear her heartbeat and she could stroke his hair, “At least you’re man enough to admit it.”

“ . . . she heard from him, blast it, I don’t know how she got the ring but she did.” Jaskier muttered.

“And he’ll come looking for us.” Yennefer nodded.

“I . . . I miss him but I also-”

“Am not ready to see him.” Yennefer agreed.

* * *

The hovel was dimly lit but it didn’t bother Ingris any, she regarded darkness as one might gravity, it was absolute and comforting in its unbiased application on the world. Darkness, like man’s inability to fly, was not points against him, merely forces of nature he had to adapt to. No, darkness did not bother the blind, but the shadowy figure sat across from her with his nose wrinkled against the smell and his muddy boots mucking up her rug.

“Your flowers were refreshed, Seer.” He said in a soft, knowing voice, “Do people often approach you? The old fear of incorrectly delivered prophecies is legendary so-”

“What a shame,” Ingris said coldly, “That I can’t seem to come up with one now. Ever gone mad? It’s a fun little detour for a while, then it consumes you and-”

“Your idle threats don’t disturb me, hag,” He snapped, glaring his dark brown eyes down his perfectly straight, long nose over a trim gray mustache, “You will tell me everything you know about The Dove of the Morning’s prophecy and you will tell me where to find the final king.”

Ingris laughed bitterly and sat back, “I can’t, I won’t and I don’t. Even if I could recite the prophecy a _third_ time, it wouldn’t matter to you, you’re not in it, dark one. And if I _could_ recall it a third time, I’d keep it to myself. And lastly I have no idea what any Dove or king or anything is or has to do with each other. I’m an instrument of Fate, not it’s maestro. Go bark up another tree.”

There was silence in the air as the man leaned slowly forward, his voice soft and cold, “Does your destiny, your one great happiness, count if it happens prematurely? And outside of natural means? Say I light this hovel on fire with you in it, will you see your precious Marrick in the flames before your screams die away?”

Ingris didn’t flinch, her head still held high and she sneered, “Haven’t the foggiest idea, nor does it surprise me that you, Oskrin of Skellige, the so-called Prophet of Death, would know any of that. How long did you spend looking up petty shit about me to throw about? A day or two? Everyone this side of Temeria knows me and knows my destiny because I’ll tell anyone who will listen. And yes, I know who you are and what you seek. They will stop you.”

There was a soft hiss through the air and a spurt of scarlet shot from a thin line across Ingris’s throat. The Seer gasped and gurgled, lurching forward but then she pushed herself up, her eyes turned from white to the most brilliant green, she pointed a finger at the man and in a ragged voice she spoke, 

_“Know fear,_

_Know hate_

_Know anger, spite and rage,_

_But know ye this, one robed in black as the darkest crypt,_

_Thy time is run out_

_The twelve will fall_

_The Endless_

_The Wall of Thorns_

_Fire and Fang shall seal thy doom_

_In a Sarcophagus . . . shall . . . shall thee . . . “_

Ingris slumped forward, dead, the robed man snorted and stood, kicking the stove over and scattering the embers before he left, closing the door behind him, “No, they will fail as you yourself predicted, hag.”

His companion shifted and looked at him, her large eyes wide, “What did it mean? Did she curse you?”

The man snorted, “She was rhyming you idiot, poorly I might add if I gave a damn about poetry, her prophecies and predictions never rhyme.” He chuckled as he watched the hovel burn, “They’re hiding. They’re afraid. And we are closer than ever. Alert the others, we’re done waiting. We have the eleventh almost prepared to rise, we need only find He Who Made the Pact, the King of Death himself . . . the final king to complete the circle. It’s already in motion, can you feel it?”

The woman blinked as she stared at the burning hovel, it snapped and cracked, the many plants within giving off strange colors then there was a loud, very clear peal of laughter as a cloud of white smoke shot into the air and then disappeared, “Yes . . . Yes I can . . . “

* * *

On the edge of Murky Water stood two slightly glowing figures, neither visible to living eyes, two female humanoids holding hands, one a little blonde girl and the other a tall maiden with fiery hair and green eyes, tears rolled down her face angrily while her home burned, “Bastards . . . And I just got the chimney repaired!“

Death tilted her head and smiled, “We have to go.”

“Wait!” Ingris looked desperately around, “Wait, no, we have to stay! My Destiny! My Marrick, please!” She pulled back on the little girl’s vice-like grip, “Did I not earn that much?”

Death frowned, “Ingris, it’s time to go.”

Ingris wept, falling to her knees, “My prophecies are always right! I’m never wrong! I have to wait! I have to see him!”

Death frowned at her and tilted her head again, “Why do you wait on the plane of the living to see the dead?”

“NO! NO! I gave up everything! For some damned dove and an ungrateful wretch of a Witcher! I risked my sanity and my life to help them! I gave them their child, why must I be denied m-” Ingris begged then she stopped, her eyes widening as a heavy fog rolled in.

Death knelt with her and took her hand, “We will wait a little while if it will ease your passing.”

Ingris sobbed, tearing her garland from her hair, “It was all I wanted . . . “

The fog parted and Death stood, “Ingris, look.”

Ingris turned and there, standing in the fog, was a man with curly black hair, freckles and bright green eyes, she slowly got to her feet, “Marrick . . . “

“It’s time to go.” Death murmured, leading her slowly to the fog, “He’s been waiting some time.”

Ingris slowly moved closer and as she did, the man became a youth that became a child that ran up to her and lifted his chubby hands, “Mama!”

Ingris ran to him, scooped him up and held him tightly, looking at Death, the little girl was smiling bemusedly as she walked next to them. The seer took Death’s hand and they set off into the fog, she only looked over her shoulder once to whisper softly, 

“ _Sing, Nightingale, sing_

_Your strength, your bond_

_Sing it for her_

_Bring forth the Morning.”_

* * *

It was obvious that it would happen, they hadn’t moved in how many months, they hadn’t tried to really hide and it was inevitable that they would be found. Jaskier stood there, staring at a familiar mare and her rider. His heart soared and sank all at once and he couldn’t help but feel bile rising in his throat when the rider dismounted in the temple grounds. 

They regarded each other for a long while until the rider spoke, “Jask-”

“Don’t.” Jaskier said softly, shaking his head, “Geralt, please, not here.” He took a slow breath, “I am infinitely happy to see you alive and well and that you came back but . . . “ The bard swallowed thickly, “I need . . . I need time . . . “

Geralt looked down, “I understand.”

“Do you? Let me say a few things,” Jaskier stepped up to him, “Not only did you run off and hide away from us, you stole a few things that don’t belong to you.”

“I didn’t-”

“No,” Jaskier held up a hand, “You took part of me . . . my heart. You took Yennefer’s trust. But worst of all,” He leaned forward, “You took away Ciri’s safety. Forget how often I woke up screaming and terrified in the night or how often Yennefer refused to sleep or eat, forget how we’ve been holing ourselves up in this temple to sit and wait for _something_ to happen, and forget how-” He broke off and looked away, “How painfully obvious your absence was to us, you made Ciri afraid, Geralt, you took her courage and left her afraid. I’ll forgive you, in time, and Yen will too, we’re adults, we understand on _some_ level why you left, but I won’t forgive you for her nightmares, for her crying for you in the night, for trying to fill that space for her and knowing it’s not enough, she needs all three of us, not just you or me or Yennefer, but all three of us to cuddle away her fear.”

Geralt swallowed and kept his head down, “I am so sorry, Jask.”

“I’m glad.” Jaskier nodded, “You should be, now let’s go inside before I make a scene.”

Geralt slowly followed Jaskier into the temple apartments they were staying in and Yennefer looked up from scrolls and books she was pouring over, notes and parchment everywhere. She stared at Geralt then glanced at Jaskier who nodded, her violet eyes met yellow ones and she slowly got up, crossed the room and put her head on his shoulder, “You are the stupidest, densest son of a whore. Gods dammit, am I happy to see you . . . “

Geralt hugged her, “I’m so sorry . . . I shouldn’t have gone but-”

“Did you learn anything?” Yennefer asked suddenly, stepping away and going back to her desk, “In the mountains while you were off brooding, did you learn anything?”

“Yes, a great deal in fact,” Geralt nodded and joined her with Jaskier pointedly sitting next to Yennefer, “I have a name, Ingris visited me in a dream-”

“So she is dead.” Jaskier murmured sadly, “The hovel burned to the ground, I had hoped she . . . nevermind.”

Geralt’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his frown became sad, “She . . . she died?”

“Yes, her stove fell over according to the reports, started a blaze even with how much rain we got it went up like kindling.” Yennefer shook her head, “What did she tell you in your dream?”

Geralt swallowed and spoke, “She gave me some advice, a destination and a name, Ballious the Archive from the Valley of Flowers, do either of you know them?”

Yennefer frowned, “It sounds vaguely familiar but nothing I’d stake my life over.”

“I do.” Jaskier snickered, “The name is from an old ballad we used to drink to in Oxenfurt in my student days, Ballious the Bogtrotter is what it was called though . . . Or Ugly Ballious the Bogtrotter or Balli the Bloody Ugly Bogtrotter . . . Never Ballious the Archive. It is a rather rude song . . . ”

Geralt was quiet, “Let’s hope it’s a mere coincidence.”

“Indeed, the lyrics are extremely crass and uncomplimentary to old Ugly Balli.” Jaskier grimaced, “Alright so there’s a bit of a problem with traveling.”

“Again?” Geralt groaned.

“The stone crumbled and I had to make do with something else,” Yen gestured to the massive quarry slab in one corner, “You don’t want to know how I got that thing up here . . . “

Geralt frowned, “Why so-”

“We were attacked by shadow-skulls and hounds at a crypt while trying to get a more appropriate stone.” Jaskier explained grimly, “They chased us back here . . . “

Geralt looked out the window then back to them, “And Ciri-”

“What about me?”

They looked and Ciri was standing in the doorway, her eyes trained on Geralt who quickly got to his feet, he smiled a bit and made an attempt to reach out to her but thought better of it and waited. She stood perfectly still, her face trembling in several places and she ran forward. Now, Geralt expected her to throw herself into his arms, he did not expect the tiny fists that started to drum on his stomach and chest.

“Coward! Why’d you run away!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face, “W-Why’d you break Jask’s heart and m-m-make Yen cry? Wh-Why?”

Geralt got hold of her wrists and held them tightly, “Ciri . . . “

“You d-d-didn’t _have_ to go!” Ciri struggled to free herself.

“Ciri . . . “ Geralt gently lifted her up by her arms so she was dangling in front of him, “Deep breath, cub, I’m home and I’m never leaving you again.”

Ciri threw her head back and sobbed, hanging limply in his grasp until he pulled her close and held her tightly, “I-I’ll n-n-never forgive you if y-y-you ever make them c-c-cry again! I l-love you, Papa!”

“I’ll do my best not to,” Geralt murmured, rocking her gently, “Shh, shh, I’m here now, I’m here . . . I love you too, Ciri, I love you all so much.“

Ciri pressed her face into his shoulder and wailed, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that his heartbeat thundered sluggishly in his ears and her legs were squeezing him so tightly that he thought he’d have bruises but he hugged her all the same.

* * *

“I’m in love with you, you know.” Jaskier said some time later, they were sitting in one of the studies, a fire burning in the hearth to ward off the damp, Yennefer was going over maps and muttering under her breath off to the side while Geralt sat in front of the fire on a mound of pillows with Ciri fast asleep on his chest. Jaskier was writing notes down in a black leather book while looking at some parchment, his eyes squinted.

“I love you too.” Geralt said softly, braiding Ciri’s hair.

“No, you idiot,” Jaskier chuckled, looking up and moved away from the window, “I love you but I’m _in_ love with you. You said so yourself.”

Geralt slowly looked at him then reached over and took the bard’s hand, “Did i?”

“I do truly believe i was your first love, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, his softer fingers stroking over the scarred, rough palm, “Because you were mine. Yes, I’ve loved countless people and will continue to do so, but I’m _in_ love with you and Yennefer. I’d do anything for you, even die.”

Geralt frowned, “How about you just sing?”

Jaskier stared at him then smiled, “You owe me a lute.”

“That I do. We’re going to the Valley of Flowers, I’m bound to find someone that can sell or make a fine one.” Geralt murmured as a hand sank into his white tresses and stroked them, “Please . . . please sing.”

Jaskier smiled and slid down to be nearer, his hand stretching across Ciri’s back to hold them and he sang. He sang about spring, about death and renewal, about reunions and thaws, Jaskier’s soft tenor filled the room and Yennefer stopped scribbling to come and sit with them, Ciri picked her head up sleepily and cuddled tighter to Geralt. The song drifted and lasted, it sang of triumphing over pain, over fear, over heartbreak. 

Geralt slipped his arms around the two, his bard and his sorceress, and they cuddled up close to their witcher as the song finished, he kissed each of their foreheads then Jaskier’s lips, “Time for bed, if we stay up much later, we’ll greet the sun.”

Jaskier sighed, glancing at Yennefer, “So are we still going to make him sleep on the couch?”

“It’s a cold night.” Yennefer said.

“Cold?” Geralt asked, eyebrow cocked but he didn’t argue the point.

* * *

The ground shifted slightly under black boots as they surrounded a rocky mound, the leader had a silver bangle on his wrist and he removed it, lifted it in the air and set it to spinning. It hummed low and gave off a whining, sonorous moan.

“Prince Aggredun the Imprisoned, rise forth, fulfill your pact and join your brethren!” He called. There was a shudder then the rocks began to crumble and fall, the man smiled and waved a hand to the gathered, they dragged a short man with a sack on his head forward and forced him to kneel in front of the mound, “Quickly! It stirs!”

The sack was removed to reveal a young man with a mop of curly blonde hair and bright brown eyes, he looked around deliriously, his eyes unfocused and dull. The hooded man next to him lifted the knife and shoved it through the man’s back so that the blade came out through his chest. He coughed once and then the blade was pulled back and a gush of blood spurted across the mound, it dripped then was pulled between the stones until he was quite dead and drained. The corpse was dropped to the side and the blood seemed to be pulled down into the ground. 

The gathered figures held their breath before there was a loud cracking sound and the rocks burst open to reveal a deep pit and within was a sarcophagus with the lid chained shut. The chains snapped and the lid shot out of the pit. The figures darted back and the bangle, which had been spinning faster and faster in the air, dropped into the dirt. There was a grinding, ragged sound then a skeletal hand appeared followed by a second then a head. This lich’s mask was strapped to his face by thin metal bands kept there with pegs driven into the porcelain and locked under the chin, rusted and flaking off in several places so that the upper left half had crumbled away revealing a glowing socket. The crown on his head was equally screwed into place, more pegs could be seen driven into the skull, and manacles hung from bony wrists, the chains broken or rotted.

Prince Aggrendun the Imprisoned, the eleventh lich king of the Court of the Dead, stood at the mouth of his tomb, threw his head back and shrieked triumphantly, drawing a long curved blade from his belt and swinging it aloft. There was the baying of hounds and a horse’s scream then his mount began to claw its way out of the tomb followed by an impossible number of skeletal hounds, men, and shadow-skulls.

 **_And thus . . ._ ** A lich with a broken crown and the bottom half of his mask missing stood nearby, **_The circle closes . . . further still . . ._ **

“Now we search for the last and first,” Oskrin of Skilige said as the newly risen lich mounted his horse, “ _Yr Hwn a Wnaeth y Cytundeb_ , He Who Made the Pact, is within our grasp.

The lich turned to look Oskrin and there was a beat of silence then a harsh, whispering laugh, **_You speak . . . as though . . . it were that easy . . . King Freddrin the Elder is hidden . . . even from us . . . how then . . . shall you find . . . his crypt?_ **

Oskrin bowed to him, “King Wallace of the Blue Mountains, was not your crypt also hidden deep in a dwarven mine? Buried amongst seams of your beloved gemstones and precious metals, well guarded and kept a secret for a thousand years? And yet, my fellows and I found it with little difficulty?”

The Lich, King Wallace of the Blue Mountains, was silent then turned and began to ride with his newly risen comrade, **_Time is short . . . Oskrin, O Prophet of Death . . . not ours, but yours . . . our patience . . . is thin . . ._ **

“As is mine.” Oskrin muttered, slipping the bangle back on his wrist and giving the freshest of the gathered corpses a kick down into the pit, “Let's get the fuck out of here, I think I got some grave dirt under my nails.”

* * *

Geralt stretched on his back, they were in bed now, Ciri had insisted to sleep with them and no one objected no matter how much any of the adults wished to ‘reunite’ after such a long time apart. He looked to his left in the darkness and Yennefer was fast asleep, holding one of Ciri’s hands while she held tightly onto Geralt’s arm. Then he turned to his right where Jaskier was staring at him, “Are you alright?” He asked the bard softly.

“I am.” Jaskier murmured, he put his head on Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes, “Just thinking.”

“Of?”

“The Valley of Flowers,” Jaskier murmured, “It’s such a beautiful place and now we have to drag death and misery to it.”

Geralt cocked an eyebrow, “You exaggerate.”

“Of course I do, it’s part of my profession.” Jaskier mumbled, hugging onto Geralt, “ . . . do you really love my singing, Geralt? It-It isn’t just _noise_ to you, is it?”

“I love your voice, the music is a bit beyond me and I am not overly fond of tavern songs or limericks but I do like listening to your ballads and poems. You have a great gift.” Geralt kissed him slowly on the lips, adjusting Ciri who mumbled and nuzzled into his chest more, “She’s getting big.”

“Her birthday is soon.” Jaskier murmured, “She’ll be thirteen, Geralt! Our little Ciri, practically a woman!”

“Not so loud . . . “ Geralt murmured, stroking Ciri’s cheek with his free hand, “Don’t let Time know . . . let her stay small forever . . . “

“Don’t say that,” Jaskier chuckled softly, “You’ll be proud to know she kept up on her training and studies while you were away, she’s very fast and very strong and very smart. She takes after me mostly, I’d say.”

“Would you?” Geralt chuckled.

Yennefer grunted and smacked Geralt’s cheek lightly, “Hush, sleep.”

There were no arguments mostly because Geralt and Jaskier were kissing before the Witcher turned and gently kissed Yennefer then laid back to try and fall asleep with an almost-thirteen year old girl clinging to him and putting weight on his bladder.


End file.
